


In the River of Clear Light

by Incy Little Spider (1ncylilspider)



Category: Magical Mystery Tour - Fandom, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Switching, both get to top and bottom, but i dunno you can read it as a mclennon fic if you want, not technically mclennon because it's their fictional characters, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 20:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20748455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1ncylilspider/pseuds/Incy%20Little%20Spider
Summary: He'd been sent out to collect ingredients for the latest spell. On the way, he ran into a most interesting person.





	In the River of Clear Light

He’d been given the task to run off and collect some flowers, dandelions that grew in a particular place and time to be used in their latest concoction. When he’d first started the job, he’d been annoyed at being the resident fetcher and tea-boy. Just given all the tasks no-one else could be bothered to do. But after a hundred or so years, he’d resigned himself wearily to the role. At least it let him get out and about, away from the stuffy, steamy spell room.

So in the early morning, the Magician slathered on some sunblock, put on his travelling cloak, (that looked exactly like his regular cloak) pulled on his hiking boots and went on his way. He’d been told and told again, to get to the hill by midday when the sun was highest in the sky. It was the day of the Spring Equinox so the power of the dandelions would be especially strong. Gods, he’d get a shouting at if he didn’t do this exactly right.

The sun gleamed in the sky, butterflies flitting together, bees buzzing drunkenly with nectar, the sound of faint birdsong in the air. He trekked through the knee-length grass, humming absent-mindedly to himself, the fresh, sweet smell of blooming flowers in his nose. It was going to be warm he could tell. Sweat was already beginning to streak down his face into his eyes.

After an hour or so he could make out the faraway swell of the grassy hill in the distance. The Magician stopped to take a sip of water from his thermos, wiping at his damp forehead. He could hear a faint singing sound. Apprehension tickled in his chest. He’d been forewarned about the Fool who lived on the hill. He’d have to keep an eye out for him. The idea of having to deal with a drooling, groaning oaf was incredibly unpleasant.

As he walked, growing closer to the hill, he spotted a dusting of dandelions growing by the bottom slope. He pulled out his pocket watch from the folds of his cloak and saw he had nearly a half hour to go before it was picking time. With a sigh, he sat down heavily in the grass. He’d packed a light lunch of jam sandwiches and some apples and he grabbed them from his knapsack. Unwrapping the sandwiches, he took a bite.

The Fool was still singing somewhere close by. The Magician was suddenly struck by how nice it was. Distracted from his lunch, he cocked his head, listening to the sweet voice mixing up with the birdsong, the faraway crash of a river and the breeze through the trees.

There was a tickling at his wrist, breaking his concentration. A trail of ants was crawling up his skin lured by his jammy fingers. Making a frustrated sound, he brushed them away. Then he checked his pocket watch again. It was about time to start his dandelion picking.

Hurriedly throwing his barely eaten lunch back into his knapsack, the Magician crawled over on his knees to where the dandelions were growing. Gently he began to collect them one by one, putting them in a special pocket of his knapsack as carefully as he could. He didn’t want to think of the reaction he’d get if he came back home with crushed flowers.

He became aware of light footsteps higher up the hill. Glancing up for a moment, the Magician stopped dead in his tracks. Now that certainly wasn’t what he imagined. The Fool was staring off into the distance, looking lost in thought and singing softly to himself. The Magician quickly looked away, feeling a flush in his cheeks and a tightening in his throat. He wasn’t a slobbering buffoon at all. He appeared to just be a normal man carrying a coat over his arm, wearing black boots, trousers and a flowing tunic. Bloody gorgeous as well isn’t he? the Magician thought appreciatively. Then he scolded himself. He was here to collect ingredients for their potions, not leer at the local hermit.

He became aware that the singing had trailed off. Feeling almost shy, the Magician glanced up again.

The Fool had noticed him. He had gone still in surprise, staring with his mouth slightly agape. Pretty doe-eyes too, all hazel with long black lashes; the Magician found himself thinking again. Sending him an awkward grin, he raised a hand in a wave, before continuing with his picking. He’d wanted to say something casual like; “nice weather we’re having!” but his mouth was dry, his tongue unable to form the words.

The sunrays burned the top of his head, sweat dripping down his nose, his breath feeling oddly short. He was grabbing at the flowers with less caution, fingers feeling large and clumsy. Although his eyes were trained downwards, he could feel the curious gaze fixated on him.

Then he heard the footsteps again, growing closer. Gods, he didn’t know why his heart felt so swollen and uncomfortable in his chest. It was just a good-looking man, no use utterly losing his cool over him. His mind cried out, not just good-looking, beautiful, gorgeous, lovely…

And passing him by?

The Magician straightened up, turning to watch as the Fool trotted through the grass and away from the hill. He was heading through a rocky field towards the forest in the far distance. He watched, as halfway towards the trees, the Fool stopped in mid-step. Then he cocked his head around and caught his gaze. The Magician stared, entranced by his enormous eyes, the colour of tree-leaves. His pink tongue slipping out to wet his lips as a slight flush reddened his cheeks. He turned again, continuing to walk through the field, occasionally stumbling over the rocks.

Without a second thought, the Magician was rising to his feet, his knapsack hanging loosely from his grip. He began to walk through the rock-scattered field after him.

What did he think he was doing? He’d collected enough flowers. Why wasn’t he heading home? Why was he following the Fool, winding and tripping over rocks, being led into the forest? Every now and again, the Fool would glance at him, as though making sure he was following. The Magician felt like he was under a spell, the siren song beckoning him in.

The sound of gently flowing water filled the air, the smell of mud in his nose. The idea of the siren came to him again. The thought of being lured to his watery grave flashing in his mind. Yet he didn’t stop as the Fool disappeared through the trees. He picked up his pace so not to lose sight of him.

The grass beneath his feet turned into a sea of thorns, twigs and leaves, crackling with each footstep. The sun was high now, burning bright, sending slivers of light through the branches overhead. His hiking boots against the underbrush were loud, clumsy compared to the Fool who barely seemed to make a sound. A few feet ahead of him, he saw the closely growing trees clear out and the other man come to a stop.

They’d reached the bank of a vast and lazy river, a ledge of smooth stone creating a walkway down the middle. The water trickled over the stone into a shallow pool. A nearby shrub had blown flower petals over the pool’s surface.

The Fool sent another quick look over his shoulder, staring at him through his black hair. The Magician wondered if he was genuinely nervous or just playing coy.

He watched as the other man hung his folded-up coat over a nearby tree branch. The Magician felt his throat close up and an almost frightening burst of heat bloom deep in his belly. The Fool was pulling his tunic up and off over his head. He folded the garment carefully, hanging it up next to his coat. Then he went down to his shoes. It wasn’t very gracious, a lot of hopping around on the spot to try to remove boots and socks. They were placed in the crook of the tree away from crawling insects.

The Magician was acutely aware of the low steady throbbing between his legs, tight almost painful hunger in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t even seductive, just fumbling and slightly nervous. Yet as more and more skin was bared, the more dizzy he felt with arousal. It shot like boiling oil through his blood.

Gods he was folding up his trousers and underwear now. Naked, completely bloody starkers. So much loveliness to stare at, he didn’t know where to start. His arse that quivered as he stepped into the water. Long legs and arms, thick with black hair against white skin. All washed in the glowing sun. Sitting down in the pool underneath the stone ledge, he turned around onto his back, stretched out on complete display. The shallow water was soapy with the oil from the strewn flowers, the crushed petals floating around his bare body.

The Magician felt a pang of insecurity. He suddenly became incredibly aware of his jam-smeared fingers, the massive sweat stains down his cloak. He couldn’t compare with him. The Magician was just all bony, big-nosed and rough-hewn. What was he thinking, having a tussle with this raven-haired beauty? It’d be like rubbing silk and sandpaper together. The sandpaper would rip the silk to shreds.

Besides he probably stunk from the long walk over.

Yet he couldn’t turn away, couldn’t make himself walk off. He stared, transfixed as the Fool cupped a handful of water, brushing it over his neck, then down lower and lower. The liquid ran in rivulets down his blushing flesh. His hand trailed over the slight dusting of hair between his pebbling nipples, down over his squishy belly, skimming over his cock which was half-erect against his thigh.

His limbs felt slack, his mind a white haze of lust. He was aware of his mouth hanging open and he quickly clamped his lips shut, feeling embarrassment flow through him. He was the drooling oaf now, wasn’t he?

Bloody hell, it was an open invitation wasn’t it?

Without thinking, he moved forward. He stepped out of his boots, shrugging off his cloak and undergarments, hanging them with his knapsack from the sturdy branch. His hands were shaking slightly and he tried to control his breathing and his anxious heart. The spring air was warm on his naked skin as he stepped into the cold water. It felt heavenly after spending the whole day in the heat. 

“Hello,” the Fool said, as he reached out his hand. His voice was like a song.

“Hi,” the Magician breathed back, taking his hand and dropping to his knees, straddling his waist. Their mouths pressed together at once, hungry and sweet. Oh the softness of his lips and the roughness of his stubble. His tongue danced delicately against his, sharing hot breath. His slick wet body, warmed under the sun, smelling of crushed oily flowers.

His heart was thumping painfully in his chest, his breath short, every inch of his skin trembling. He was touching the other man all over, hands greedily sweeping over his back and his hair and his ribs and his arse. The Fool’s touches were softer, the tips of his fingers dancing over his arms like spider legs. They moved fluidly around until the other man was on top, fingertips ghosting across his collarbone, his flushed red chest.

They finally pulled away, a string of spit breaking between them,

“You’re the guest,” he said. “You can go first if you like. Then me.”

He wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Then as the other man slotted himself between his legs, he understands. 

Gods he hadn’t done this for ages. Nearing a hundred years he guessed with embarrassment. He was probably as tight as his first time. The Fool collected some of the oil floating on the water in his hand. A polite little knock between his knees, asking permission for him to open them up. The Magician obliged, wrapping his legs around the other man’s waist. He felt his breath shake deep in his chest as his finger slowly circled his rim. There was a pause, another silent but polite question in his hazel eyes.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he hissed, eager and irritated at his carefulness. Then he gasped, the finger crooking in. The Fool smiled, so lovingly it made his heart nearly tremble out of control. Slowly, so slowly he slipped his finger in and out of his body. He seemed to be purposely avoiding hitting his sweet spot and it made him thrust his hips down, grunting, wanting it faster, wanting it now, now, now.

The Fool obliged him, teasing a second finger against his rim. Then it entered, fitting snugly beside the first. It burned, it hurt and it was wonderful. His belly was alight with heat, arousal singing through his veins. He groaned an animal sound, sweat in his eyes, hips rocking into his palm.

The Fool leaned down, kissed his eyelids. The Magician felt him, felt his pulsing cockhead against his hole. Not pushing in of course, because the darling needed to know he wanted it. Grabbing the man around the neck he crushed their mouths together, snarling ‘yes, do it, do it, just do it,” against his lips.

It was strange to be treated so gently, as though he were a blushing virgin. His soft lips brushing against his chin and down his neck as he pushed inside him. The stretch ached, made his breath hitch. They both groaned, the Fool sweet and high, the Magician rough and harsh. Breath hot, hot against his skin, his hands stroking up his arms and through his hair. He felt his body prickling with fire as the Fool moved his hips in a slow steady rhythm. He slid his hands down the Fool’s warm, damp back, fingers sinking into the ample flesh of his arse, wanting him to be rougher. But the other man just laughed into his neck, refusing to quicken the pace, refusing to hit that sweet spot, always just barely missing it. Measured and deliberate thrusts, his hard cock pulsing and pressing deep into his body. He twisted against the smooth rock, a whine in his throat. He was an awful, terrible tease and he hated him and he adored him.

He felt lost in the overwhelming feelings. He just wanted him to hit him in the right spot, he just wanted him to go harder, go faster. It was unbearable. It was like torture. He was right on the edge and he was holding him back with a smug little smile on his face.

Then he stopped. Stopped, leant down to kiss his forehead, repositioned himself. His next thrust forward made the Magician nails claw and his head rock back against the stone. The Fool’s hand was immediately slipping over to cradle his head as he began the rhythm again. Hitting right where he needed him to.

“Yer gonna make me cum,” he whispered against the Fool’s neck, felt him shudder in response. His body stiffened as his doe-eyes fell shut. His cock throbbed inside his arse hot, hot with his orgasm. The come was slick and hot, oozing out of him and down his thighs. He felt like he could cry with the pleasure. Then the Magician was spurting against them both, thick white liquid clinging to the dark hair on the other man’s stomach.

Immediately the Fool moved down to the Magician’s narrow hips, licked the come spattered there. He felt himself spasm as his soft red lips kissed the tip of his moist cock. He was oversensitive, shivering and gasping. When he’s cleaned up every last milky remnant, the Fool lay down by his side. For a long, glorious time all they can do was heave for breath.

He feels the other man’s fingertips at his wrist. He turns his head towards him. The Fool is staring at him with his lovely thick-lashed hazel eyes, wetting his plush lips with the tip of his tongue.

“My turn now?” he asks. The Magician reaches over to feel his soft black hair.

“Bossy aren’t you?” he teases back.

The Fool grinned. His face was pink and dripping sweat. Slowly, the Magician got back up to his knees that felt like jelly. Sliding his hands down the underside of the Fool’s thigh, he pulled him in closer, until they were skin to skin. It made the other man let out a trill of almost nervous laughter. His lovely legs opened up and then he flinched slightly with surprise when the Magician mouthed at his ankle. Like no-one had ever done that to him before. 

He stroked the sole of his foot with a single nail and it curled up, the Fool squirming, giggling. The Magician wondered if he was ticklish everywhere or just his feet. He began to kiss feather-soft up the inside of his leg towards his thigh, hand sweeping over his other leg. The giggling got more desperate. Yes, ticklish everywhere.

Scooping up some of the oil floating around him, he rubbed it through his hands until they were slippery and slick. Then he squeezed the other man’s fleshy arse, parting them. His hole was tight and flushed pink, clenching and unclenching. The Magician wasn’t the only one who hadn’t done this in a while.

Pressing his lips to his silky soft thigh, he pressed the pad of his finger against him.

“You want it?” he said, teasingly remembering the other man’s many questions before. The Fool grinned, laughed again, nodded.

His other hand trailed up to the man’s chest. When he brushed his thumb against the pointed nub of his nipple, a shiver wracked through his body. The tremors grew stronger as his finger entered him.

He was burning hot and velvety tight. The Magician felt his fingers squish against the soft bulge of his prostate, felt the Fool’s hairy thighs close against his hand as he gasped. He withdrew, pushed in again, pulled out and in. Prodding his sweet spot, playing with his nipples and grinding himself against his leg. The Fool’s cock twitched and quivered, slowly filling up until it was hard against his chubby belly.

White droplets were oozing from his cockhead already, his face glowing, hair slicked with sweat down his forehead. His red mouth opened, his eyes glazed over, his breath hitching in his throat. He looked close to losing it early.

Taking his hands away, he smiled at the other man’s whines. Payback was a bitch. The Magician got more of the oil from the water, smearing it over his cock, angry red and straining. He leant down, cupped the other man’s hair, lips pressing right under his ear and against his temple, using his other hand to position himself. The Fool’s arms wrapped around him, his lips against his throat, his cock squished between them.

“You sure you want it?” he said into his ear with mischief in his voice. The Fool let out a high-pitched trilling sound of assent.

He probably should have spent more time fingering him open. But he was greedy, desperate for him. After a moment of unyielding pressure, he felt himself surge inside with a wet popping sound. Gods, gods, gods, it almost hurt how tightly he gripped him, how tightly he sucked him in. The Fool was breathing harshly into his neck, arms in a vice grip around his freckled shoulders. The Magician’s mouth moved clumsy and damp over his cheek, over his fluttering eyelids, then down the slope of his nose before ending at the corner of his lips.

A part of him wished he could be as gentle as the other man had been with him. He couldn’t control himself. He was rough and grunting and sweating. The Fool seemed to enjoy it though, making little mewling sounds into the Magician’s mouth, their mouths, that were pressed sloppily together, sliding tongues, gasping breath. The sweat stench of his hair filled his nostrils, their bodies moving slick against each other.

Molten heat was burning in the bottom of his belly, he was panting harshly into his mouth. His hips started to smack faster and harder. The other man was trembling in his arms, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. His arse clenched down on him, his cock spurting semen across their stomachs. The Magician felt his limbs and his insides turn into water as he cried out, his balls drained of cum, the Fool’s arse milking his cock of every last drop.

His breath was gone as they pressed their foreheads together. Slipping down to lie beside him, they began to lazily kiss, tongues in a sweet slow dance. They were a gooey mess of soapy flower oil, river water, sweat, spit and cum.

The Fool was the first to break away. It made insecurity swell up in the Magician’s chest at once. Now was the time when the Fool would look at him with contempt for staying so long when it was obviously time for him to get up and be on his merry way home. The Magician didn’t want to go. Not yet.

But the Fool took his hand, their fingers entwining tightly together. Then he got slightly shaky up on his long hairy legs.

The Magician let himself be led back onto the top of the stone ledge, feeling dazed and faraway. They lay there, naked under the sun, the Fool’s fluffy head on his shoulder, gripping his arm possessively. The Magician stroked his soft black hair. It fell through his fingers like water. He closed his eyes as the Fool’s foot stroked the inside of his ankle. The heat of the sun warmed their skin, the light breeze cascading over them. He listened to the Fool’s soft breathing, the wind through the trees and the birdsong.

He didn’t seem much of a fool at all. Just gentle and innocent. Perhaps people mistook his sweetness for simple-mindedness. Perhaps people were jealous of how content he obviously was. Amusing himself among the wilderness, swimming in flower-scented rivers and making love under the sun. What a peaceful life he’d made for himself.

He must have drifted off into a half sleep. When his eyes slowly opened again, the air was colder, the sun lower in the sky as the afternoon moved to early evening. The Fool was asleep, curled up beside him, still clutching at his arm.

The Magician knew he should be getting up to leave by now. A million excuses flew into his mind. He couldn’t put his cloak on over his wet body. He couldn’t walk home in the dark. He didn’t want to be rude, just slink off without saying goodbye. The truth however, couldn’t be denied. He imagined with dread in the pit of his stomach, going back to his lowly job. The next hundred or so years, spent making tea and watching the other Magician’s cast spells, make potions and concoct schemes, while he was ignored apart from the occasional scolding. All of that verses just staying here with him? It wasn’t a decision at all. As he stroked the black tendrils of hair out of the young man’s eyes, he knew he didn’t want to leave his side.

The Fool had noticed that he’d woken up and the grip on his arm tightened.

“Stay?” his voice trailed out, a melody that raised the hairs on his arms and neck. His hand reached out, fingers dancing lightly over his wrist.

He’s like an angel, the thought sprang to his mind, frightening in its tenderness.

“Of course love,” he whispered in reply.

Hands slipping together, they waded through the shallow water to where their clothes hung. He wondered where he slept, if he had a little treehouse like a monkey, or a secret cave all cosy and dark. He couldn’t wait to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfic in years and I dive in by writing porn. Of course. Typical. Also the title refers to this dope song called Cave of Clear Light by the Bystanders. It's a fave of mine and y'all should listen to it. It's like a more positive side of Fool on the Hill. Anyway I just cranked this out with barely any editing so sorry if it's riddled with errors. Thanks for reading!


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